Vanessa, Boldness

Vanessa stepped off the bus and lit a cigarette, though she hardly enjoyed smoking. Ray smoked so much that their flat was constantly thick with second hand smoke, so she’d reasoned it made little difference if she smoked herself. She walked the two blocks to the flat above the garage where Ray had his gym. Her day at the studio had stretched long; she’d just finished a dress rehearsal for a commercial shoot promoting a new range of washing machines imported from India.

These machines were advertised as ultra-modern and eco-friendly, calling for an ad campaign with a sleek, futuristic look. To match the concept, the creative team had chosen a bald model as the main character. Vanessa had been fitted with a bald cap for the part, her makeup flawless in its precision, giving her a sleek, almost otherworldly look. After hours of setup and takes, the final shots had been sent off to the importer for preliminary approval. Tomorrow, the company’s Vice President of Advertising was flying in to give the official green light on the campaign.

As Vanessa climbed the steps to their flat, she wondered what Ray would think of the concept.

Vanessa felt a thrill of excitement as she thought about the campaign’s potential success and, more importantly, the pay cheque. For once, she’d be earning enough to cover rent, making her less reliant on her parents, who disapproved of her relationship with Ray and had been reluctantly helping them cover costs. The thought of independence filled her with pride; this job could be the start of something real.

When she reached the flat, though, Ray seemed barely interested in her day. He listened with a distracted nod, clearly more focused on heading out to the local pub to meet his drinking buddies. Vanessa couldn’t understand how he, a self-proclaimed personal trainer, could be so devoted to smoking and drinking. The irony wasn’t lost on her: they’d met because of the low-cost training Ray had offered her back when he’d been motivated and genuinely invested in fitness. She had continued her routine, committed to maintaining her physique, which had paid off—her look was precisely what had landed her this ad job in the first place. But Ray’s passion for training had faded, leaving her feeling like she was the only one pushing forward.

Tonight, she hoped, would be the beginning of her stepping out of Ray’s shadow, defining a future she could call her own.

The next morning, Vanessa arrived at the studio just before eleven and was introduced to the young and self-assured VP from the Import Company and Malcolm his manager of advertising. His calm confidence and sharp insight impressed her immediately, and she was equally pleased to sense that he had been genuinely struck by her performance on film. After the brief introductions, she was invited to join the meeting in progress.

As they discussed the campaign, the VP explained that while his boss appreciated the overall theme, he felt that the ad’s promises of advanced technology and sustainability needed a stronger sense of authenticity. He shared a few ideas for reconfiguring the set layout, aiming to create a setting that felt less stylized and more grounded. Then, with a composed tone that caught Vanessa off guard, he addressed what he saw as the final obstacle to realism: the bald wig.

“Ultimately,” the VP said, looking her directly in the eyes, “the ad would be far more effective if the model were actually bald.” He explained that it would not only give a more convincing look to her head shape—removing the need to disguise her long hair under layers of makeup and prosthetics—but also create a seamless look when the campaign hit the road. If the ad gained traction, the model would likely be called upon for live appearances and photoshoots with the machines, where her image would need to be consistent.

Vanessa sat in silence, stunned. The idea of shaving her head had never crossed her mind. It was a commitment that extended beyond the studio—a change that would alter her appearance entirely.

Vanessa’s manager seized the opportunity, cutting in smoothly. “So, I assume we’re discussing additional compensation for the hair loss,” she said, her voice professional yet assertive. “And, of course, the cost of a wig for her when she’s not working—unless you’ll be providing one.” Vanessa felt a wave of relief. The thought of shaving her head had been overwhelming on its own, but her manager’s foresight reminded her that this was a business decision with real implications. She silently thanked her, grateful for her protective instincts.

Yet as her manager negotiated, Vanessa’s mind wandered to how Ray would react. He adored her hair—or at least, he liked having it around. He often pulled at it to manoeuvre her around the flat when he felt wronged, or he’d tug at it during what he called “lovemaking” which often left her feeling anything but loved. She realized, with a sudden clarity, that Ray’s attachment to her hair had more to do with control than admiration. A chill ran through her as she wondered: Did he even care for her as a person, or was she just something for him to possess?

For the first time, Vanessa faced a question she’d avoided: Did she actually love Ray? Or had she just gotten used to him, used to the feeling of being tethered to him in one way or another? As she listened to her manager advocate for her in ways Ray never had, she wondered if maybe she didn’t need Ray at all.

As the meeting wrapped up the VP said that he would be leaving Malcolm to oversee the campaign on the company’s behalf but that he would be in constant contact. Vanessa felt Malcolm’s gaze lingering on her, his expression attentive and thoughtful, with a soft smile that struck her as unexpectedly warm. She chanced a sideways glance, surprised at the interest in his eyes. Where a look like this from Ray would carry an unsettling edge, Malcolm’s gaze held none of that intensity; it felt…genuine. She wondered if he was imagining her with a shaved head or if he simply saw her as a model and a woman, appreciating her for who she was. He was hard to read, but there was something reassuring in his smile.

With the business settled and agreements reached, they all rose to leave. As they made their way to the door, Malcolm casually asked how she planned to get home. Vanessa explained she’d be taking the bus, as usual. Without hesitation, he offered to drive her, not even bothering to check which direction she lived. His casual assurance left her a bit off-balance, but she agreed, touched by the unassuming kindness.

As they approached her stop, she politely asked him to drop her off where she’d normally get off the bus. She wanted to keep her home with Ray private, and somehow, she wasn’t ready for Malcolm to see that part of her life. She thanked him warmly as she stepped out of the car, reaching instinctively for her cigarettes before stopping herself. Something about Malcolm made her hesitate—she didn’t want him to know she smoked, just as she hadn’t wanted him to see where she lived.

As she walked away, she felt a flicker of something unfamiliar: a desire to hold herself differently, to be more than the person Ray saw.

As Vanessa turned the corner to her flat, a sleek, dark red Mustang caught her eye, standing in the driveway. None of Ray’s friends could afford a car like that; it was as out of place in their neighbourhood as its polished finish, its challenge stripes bold over the middle of its sleek shape. Hearing the clinking of gym equipment from the garage door, she peered in through the side window. Ray was mid-session, but this wasn’t his typical client.

A woman with long blonde hair was doing leg lifts, her age betrayed only by a few fine lines along her jaw. She must’ve been around fifty, Vanessa guessed—well put together, though with an air of someone trying a little too hard. The side of her face showed an intensity and focus that made Vanessa uneasy. Of course, she thought. Ray hadn’t mentioned any new clients, and she wondered how many other details he’d been keeping to himself lately.

She went upstairs to their flat, choosing not to interrupt. Moments later, the Mustang tore out of the driveway, the driver revving the engine with an exaggerated wheel spin. Vanessa shook her head. She may be fifty, but she still thinks she is a teenager, she thought.

When Ray finally came in, he launched into a monologue about his new client, Mrs. Vanbruren, detailing her fitness goals, the customized program he’d created, and, of course, how much she was paying him. He seemed unusually animated, eyes bright as he explained the rigorous routine they’d already started. “She’s really eager—full of energy and totally committed,” he said with a grin. “Leonore’s got a lot she wants to work on.”

So it’s already Leonore, Vanessa noted, catching the glint in his eye.

When Ray finally stopped talking about Leonore, Vanessa took a deep breath and told him about the contract she’d signed. She kept the specifics of her earnings vague, but when she explained she’d need to shave her head—and stay bald for at least the next three months—Ray’s reaction was immediate and explosive.

He ranted, pacing angrily, throwing words like “freak” and “embarrassment” around, clearly outraged at the idea of having a bald girlfriend. It was as if her choice, her career, had somehow become a personal affront. His rage only grew as she calmly told him that her head was being shaved tomorrow. Without warning, he grabbed her by the hair, dragging her into the bedroom and throwing her onto the bed.

What followed was brutal, leaving Vanessa feeling humiliated and deeply shaken. He yanked her hair painfully, using it to control and demean her, pushing her around like an object he owned. She lay there, enduring the pain and humiliation, her mind trying to escape the reality of what was happening. She thought of Malcolm, of his quiet kindness and respectful demeanour, and the sharp contrast felt overwhelming. She couldn’t imagine him treating anyone this way—couldn’t picture him grabbing, hurting, or demeaning anyone.

Her scalp throbbed, and she wondered if the abuse would show when the barber shaved her head tomorrow. Would her skin be red, inflamed? She thought, oddly, about the strange freedom that being bald might bring. No more hair to be pulled, no way for Ray to use it against her. If anything, he might refuse to come near her at all.

As Ray finally left her, Vanessa lay there sore, tear-streaked, and utterly spent. And beneath the pain, she felt a glimmer of relief, a whisper of freedom in knowing that tomorrow, things might finally begin to change.

That night, Vanessa’s phone buzzed with a simple message: Pick you up at 8. The words were brief but filled her with a quiet sense of anticipation. She drifted into a restless sleep, only to wake the next morning to find Ray sprawled on the couch, passed out from what had clearly been a long night of drinking. Slipping out quietly, she headed to the corner to meet Malcolm.

As she settled into his car, Malcolm seemed to notice the weight she was carrying, but he simply offered a kind smile, understanding that today held more for her than just a haircut. When he asked if she’d had breakfast, she shook her head, politely declining his offer to stop somewhere. She wasn’t sure she could eat with everything going through her mind.

Then Malcolm told her they’d be stopping at a wig shop in the mall nearby. Vanessa blinked in surprise, touched that he’d thought ahead to arrange this. When they arrived, they were greeted by an elderly lady who welcomed them warmly, clearly prepared for their visit. She guided Vanessa to a display area lined with an astonishing range of wigs, from natural shades to bold, vibrant colours. Vanessa gazed around, momentarily lost in the sea of styles and textures.

Malcolm encouraged her to pick any wig she liked within a set budget. After some searching, Vanessa chose one similar to her current hair, both in style and colour, hoping for a sense of continuity even after the drastic change she was about to make. Malcolm suggested she pick a second one, a backup for future appearances. After some thought, she chose another—a shorter, more modern cut that she’d never had the nerve to try before. Holding both wigs, she felt a spark of confidence. Today, she realized, wasn’t about loss. It was about transformation.

As they settled back into the car, Malcolm turned to Vanessa, his tone gentle. “Are you ready?”

The question took her by surprise. It was only then that she realized this was the moment she’d been dreading and anticipating all at once. She’d signed up to be the face of a sleek, new washing machine—a symbol of modernity and innovation—but now she had to embody it, fully and visibly. She took a deep breath and nodded. Malcolm placed a comforting hand on her arm, his presence steadying her.

When they arrived at the barbershop, Vanessa’s agent was already waiting, her face radiating calm support. The barber shop had a secluded alcove prepared, giving them privacy from the rest of the space. Vanessa felt her heart pound as Malcolm gently took her arm, guiding her to the chair. Every step closer intensified her apprehension, and she felt a small surge of resistance, an instinctive urge to turn back. But Malcolm’s steady hand reassured her, and she took her seat, hands resting on her lap as she waited for the cape.

The barber, a quiet, kind-eyed man, draped the cape around her shoulders, the cloth feeling heavier than she’d expected. Vanessa watched her reflection in the mirror, her hair cascading down behind the chair, knowing this was the last time she’d see herself like this for a long time. The barber gave her a moment to breathe, then looked to her for the final signal.

Vanessa met her own eyes in the mirror, saw the uncertainty there, and, beneath it, a flicker of strength. She gave the slightest nod.

Vanessa’s fleeting resolve evaporated the moment the clippers buzzed to life. She wanted to scream, to shout, No! Stop this! I can’t do it! But she didn’t. The decision had already been made, the contract signed, and she knew that backing out now wasn’t an option—not if she wanted to carve a path away from Ray, away from the torment she had endured. This might be her way out.

Forcing herself to speak, she murmured, “Yes, I’m ready. Please… just make it quick.” Her voice wavered, but the barber nodded, understanding her unspoken plea. As she clenched her eyes shut, the clippers began their relentless path down the top of her head. The vibration against her scalp felt alien, the sound unnervingly loud in the otherwise quiet alcove.

The cool air met her newly bare skin almost immediately, and it felt like a shock, a freezing gust that made her shiver inwardly. As locks of her hair tumbled to the ground, she clenched her fists beneath the cape, her nails digging into her palms to keep herself grounded. With every pass of the clippers, another layer of her familiar self seemed to vanish, leaving behind an uncomfortable rawness. She felt unbearably exposed, her vulnerability laid bare in a way she’d never experienced.

The presence of Malcolm, steady and reassuring, was the only thing keeping her from breaking down completely. She could sense his quiet support, even without looking at him, and it was enough to hold her tears at bay—for now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the barber paused. “That’s it,” he said softly, his voice filled with sympathy. “Now for the shave. It’ll take a little longer, but you’ve been very brave.”

Vanessa didn’t trust herself to speak. She simply nodded, her eyes still shut tight, too afraid to face the reflection in the mirror. “Carry on,” she whispered, her voice almost inaudible, as she braced herself for the next stage of her transformation.

Vanessa flinched at the first touch of the warm foam against her scalp. The shaving brush, loaded with thick, soothing lather, moved methodically over her bristle-covered head, spreading the warmth evenly across the stark new terrain. She clenched her hands under the cape, willing herself to remain calm as the foam covered the remnants of what many would call a woman’s crowning glory. It felt ceremonial, the final act in what had been an emotional ordeal.

The barber worked quickly, honouring her earlier request, and soon the razor met her scalp. It glided along the same path the clippers had taken minutes before. The sensation was foreign and strange, entirely different from shaving her legs. The coarse, stubborn hair on her head resisted the blade more than she expected, creating a faint tug as though the hair itself refused to surrender. She imagined it clinging to her, unwilling to leave its rightful place. Yet, stroke by stroke, it was stripped away.

With each pass of the razor, the cool air felt sharper against her exposed skin. She couldn’t decide how she felt about the sensation—it was neither painful nor pleasant, just entirely new. Soft fingers probed her scalp, exploring the unfamiliar surface, seeking out rough spots the razor had missed. Each touch made her flinch slightly, the vulnerability of her newly bared scalp unsettling. When the barber returned with the blade to clean up the stragglers, she imagined the small, stubborn patches of hair resisting to the very end.

Finally, a soft towel was rubbed over her head, wiping away the remnants of foam. The sensation was surreal, the feel of fabric against skin that had never been exposed before. The barber’s hands withdrew, and she realized she no longer felt his presence nearby.

Instead, a warm, steady hand slipped into hers, and she heard Malcolm’s gentle voice in her ear. “It’s over,” he whispered. “You can look.”

Her heart pounded as she slowly opened her eyes, hesitant yet unable to resist the inevitable. The reflection that met her gaze was unrecognizable. A bald woman stared back, her scalp gleaming under the soft light, her features sharper and more defined without the frame of her hair. Vanessa felt a mix of emotions—shock, sadness, and something unexpected: strength. This was her now, transformed, for better or worse.

Vanessa stared at her reflection, taking in the image of the bald woman before her. The shock was there, but so was a quiet, growing resolve. This was her now—a version of herself she hadn’t imagined but was starting to accept. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, a wave of strength surged through her. It was unexpected but welcome. She could deal with Ray. She could face the world. She could show everyone what it meant to be bold and fearless—the perfect embodiment of the futuristic machine she was promoting.

Her hand tightened on Malcolm’s, her voice firm and steady as she said, “Bring it on.”

The other hand flew to her scalp, fingertips exploring the smooth, alien texture of her head. She had to feel it, to connect with the reality of what she had just allowed them to do. The surface was soft and clean, completely unfamiliar. She exhaled deeply, the tactile sensation grounding her. Without thinking, she took Malcolm’s hand and guided it to her head, inviting him to share the moment with her. He hesitated briefly but then allowed his hand to rest gently on her scalp, his touch supportive and kind.

Vanessa’s agent, watching the transformation in her client, stepped closer. There was a flicker of uncertainty in her expression, as though she wasn’t entirely sure who this new Vanessa was. Tentatively, she reached out and placed her hand on Vanessa’s head as well, her palm brushing the smooth skin. She marvelled at the feeling but also at the woman herself, now standing taller and radiating an aura of quiet defiance and empowerment.

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, connected by this shared experience, until Vanessa straightened her shoulders, looked back at her reflection, and smiled faintly. “Let’s make this count,” she said, her voice steady and assured.

Watch out for the second part of Vanessa’s journey.